Girl Most Likely To (13 page)

“W
ell, you really had me fooled—” Prakash began in a whisper.

We hadn’t even shut the kitchen door behind us.

“What? What are you talking about?” I poured the milk, f lipped the stove onto High and swung around to face him. “It looks like
you’re
the one that’s got
my
parents fooled. We had a deal, you maniac! What could possibly have possessed you to behave this way?”

His nostrils flared. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I hard-whispered, “And keep your voice down!”

He leaned one hand on the counter, and aimed his face so that he could meet me at eye level. “You had no right to walk out on Nick like that this morning. You know he’s a good friend of mine. Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

Well,
this
was unexpected. Where was the hair-rending? Where was the blubbering? Where was the guy who should have been lying prostrate before me, begging forgiveness for the evening’s emotional ambush?
And who the hell did he think he was to judge me for being victimized by his sleazeball friend?

My mind spun before finally settling on the obvious. “No! And wait…I didn’t…How can you even say that? Why would I care if it got back to you, anyway? Listen very closely, you moron. You and I are not dating! You are gay!”

“I am well aware of that.” He straightened up, crossing his arms, shifting into a distinctly lawyerly tone, “And I am also aware that you are a grown woman. The bottom line is that you knew what you were doing last night. And you know that there was a better way to handle it this morning.”

“Okay, first of all, I cannot believe I’m even hearing this.” I started poking his chest, backing him into a corner. “But we don’t have time to argue about last night. This is about tonight. And you could’ve handled
this dinner
a helluva lot better, like by not letting it happen in the first place! The
bottom line,
as you put it, is that this is insanity. And you are insane for orchestrating it. I mean, what was all that garbage you were spewing out there in front of our parents? How could you let things get this far?”

He wouldn’t relent. “Hey, I didn’t know we were having dinner here tonight. My parents sprang it on me at the last minute, and I had no choice but to come with them. I…”

His eyes focused on something behind me, and then widened. “The pot!”

I looked over my shoulder. The milk was bubbling and foam was dripping onto the stove. I lunged for the pot handle.

“Damn it!” I yelled, jerking away. I rushed to the sink to plunge my hand under cold water.

Prakash f lipped off the switch and then hurried to my side, where he proceeded to stand, helplessly.

I pivoted to face him. “You always have a choice, Prakash. And you’re responsible for the choices that you make.”

The concern in his eyes morphed into malice. “And what does that say about your behavior last night? Or this morning?”

“
Arrrrrrgh!
How is that any of your
business?
” I nearly yelled, and then started gesturing with dripping hands. “You know, maybe you’d be a little less quick to judge other people if you took a closer look at yourself. You…you make me sick!”

“I?” He stepped back. “I make
you
sick? Wow, I thought I was the attorney. Vina, you really know how to spin a situation around.”

“This is not about spinning anything around. And I cannot believe that you think you have the right to blow up at me. You should be apologizing to me for letting things get to this point with our parents!”

His hand flew to his forehead and his eyes slammed shut. “Vina, I…”

“No, wait. You know what? Come to think of it, I take that back. I’m not surprised at all. Why should I have expected any better from you? You’re thirty years old and you’re still such a pathetic child that you’re running circles around yourself. You’re even willing to take advantage of me, just to keep hiding your sexuality from your own mother and father! I don’t know how you can even look at yourself in the mirror!”

Of all the doors slamming in my life recently, that one might have been the loudest. And not just because it left me to answer to two sets of parents on my own. But ten minutes after Prakash sped off, his parents were on their way, as well, having traded their awkward goodbyes with my own. Being so much of the adult that Prakash was not, I hid in the kitchen until his mother and father were gone. I was still slumped in a kitchen chair, with my face buried in blistering hands, when I heard my father padding up the stairs.

Eventually, the silence was broken by the shuffling of my mother’s tiny slippers on the tile. I looked up, and she was looking down on me.

“Mom…” a tiny voice fought its way out of me.

She held a hand before her forehead to silence me, and then f lipped it around and swiped it across her face, her tired and—for the first time I could recall—noticeably aging face.

“
Beti,
” she began, with her eyes still closed, “your father and I tried to raise you with the proper values. And we gave you your freedom so that we could be sure that you could take care of yourself. But we educated you so that you could have a good life, not so that you could forget about family and tradition entirely. Normally, I try to see things your way. I know you don’t think so, but I do. You have always been a very sensitive girl. You are my daughter and I recognize these things. But honestly, I don’t know what to say to you anymore. Your career becomes more and more important, and you talk about these so-called relationships of yours. You know we do not approve of them, but we have learned to keep our mouths shut on the subject, thinking perhaps you know better than we do. But where are these men you spend time with? Where have they gotten you? What are the results of all this independence you talk about? At some point, the time to do things right will pass. You are enjoying your freedom, and you are working very hard, and still you are not happy. Then this boy comes along. He is educated. He is handsome. And his parents are truly gentle and kind people. Still, you find faults with him before you have even taken the time to know him. And now you have yelled at him in your parents’ home. I mean, I cannot imagine that my child would do such a thing.
My
child. It must have been a failure on our part that we did not raise you better. I accept that. But what could have been so bad on his part? Your father and I only want what is best for you, Vina, but we don’t know what else to do. Now I think that maybe we should just leave you to do what you feel is right.”

I opened my mouth but couldn’t make a sound. She turned and walked away.

Obviously that night I chose not to sleep in my old bedroom. Because like all ungrateful children who don’t love their parents, I had the audacity to live alone in midtown Manhattan despite the fact that mine had offered me a perfectly good room (rent-free!) in their home on Long Island (just thirty minutes from my office!). Did I mention it comes with an early-morning cup of tea with Mommy and Daddy? I used to try to find ways to tactfully explain why, at my age, even though I’m not married, I do on occasion have company for my morning beverage. After it fell on deliberately deaf ears more times than I could count, I gave up and agreed with their version of the story. My choice to spend $2,000 per month for a shoe box in the sky had nothing to do with the fact that I was a gainfully employed, grown woman in her late twenties who enjoyed her independence. Clearly, I did it because I hated them.

Bleary-eyed and blistered by midnight, I leaned into the door to my apartment. I dropped my purse on a chair. I dropped my clothes on the floor. I dropped into the comfort of my cherished independence. The calm of my own apartment. The space to sort things out. The promise of clarity at daybreak. The chance to be alone inside my head…

Or so I had hoped. But in reality, no single woman can ever really count on being alone inside her own mind.

“Great news!” Cristina shouted through the phone after what seemed like only fifteen minutes had passed.

“I’m sleeping,” I complained, blinking at the slit of sunlight slicing through the blinds.

“Well, get up. It’s ten a.m. And I know you didn’t have a late night, since you went to your parents’ house.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” I pulled the sheets over my face. “I really want to go back to sleep.”

“Well, you won’t when you hear what I have to tell you.”

She was in no mood to be refused. And I was in no condition to fight. I huffed.

“Okay, so…I know you’ve been really depressed about Jon lately,” she began. “Understandably, although you try to keep such a brave face. But the whole situation with that bastard has been really hard for you. I mean Jon. I mean…”

“Mmm-hmm.” I rolled my eyes under their lids.

At that moment, Jon seemed like the least of my problems.

“And so I thought you could use some good news. Actually, it’s more like a surprise. You’ve been
published!
”

“Huh?”

“Surprise! I got you published! I forwarded one of your e-mails to Salon.com.”

“You did what?” My eyes flew open.

“You know, it’s that Web site about relationships. And they loved your bit! So they published it in this morning’s edition. It’s online right now!”

She paused. Once again, I was speechless.

“I was cleaning out my inbox, and I started rereading some of your e-mails about how it had made you feel. The infidelity. And then it hit me: Your e-mail could be your silver lining. I mean, you’re so insightful about this kind of stuff. And…”

She was waiting for my response. I was waiting for the room to stop spinning.

“I…I was thinking that something good could come out of this whole situation, you know? Vina. Vina, say something.”

I sat up. “Cristina, how could you do this?”

“I thought it would make you feel better. You’ve been so mopey lately.”

“Better! It makes me feel horrible! Exposed! Violated! How
dare
you?”

“Vina, what’s the big deal? I don’t understand why you want to hide your insight, your talent.”

I yelled. “It’s my emotions!”

“Well,” she asked, “Why do you want to hide
them,
then?”

I closed my eyes, drew a deep breath, and tried to stay calm. “Cristina, I’m not hiding anything. It was private. And personal. And you had no right to do this.”

“Vina, you’re being unreasonable,” she countered. “You can’t keep running away from this.”

Things were getting out of hand. I was so sick of being psychoanalyzed by people who had no idea what I was going through. So tired of having people make my decisions for me. So frustrated over never having any control over anything. I snapped, and it wasn’t pretty.

“This is coming from a woman who, everyone knows, runs so hard on the treadmill because what you’re really trying to outrun is the fear that any person who gets close enough to
actually know you
will wind up dumping you?”

And I slammed down the phone before I could hear her reply.

T
he banging I thought was coming from inside my head turned out to be the sound of someone knocking on my door a few hours later.

“Nobody’s home.” I buried my head under a pillow.

“Don’t be so melodramatic, honey. Believing that hot pink is acceptable this season doesn’t make you a nobody. It just makes you…unfortunate. Now let me in.” It was Christopher.

“Why?”

“Because if you don’t, then I’ll tell everyone in the building that you’re responsible for the potted plants that are always clogging the trash chute.”

I yanked open the door. “How did you know?”

“Please,” he said with a sarcastic wink and pushed past me in a terrycloth bathrobe that looked softer than anything I owned. “What kind of self-respecting plant could resist suicide when forced to live in such close proximity to that much Brooks Brothers navy blue?”

I watched helplessly while he once again made himself comfortable in my apartment. “So you’ve been looking through my closet while I’ve been sleeping?”

“Um, no.” He raised a manicured eyebrow at me, reminding me that it was probably time to re-wax my own. “That would be a little loserish, don’t you think? I do it while you’re in the shower.”

I glared at him while kicking the door shut with my heel.

“What?”
He shot my coffee table a look of disdain. “It’s not like you have any good magazines. I wouldn’t be surprised to find a copy of
Highlights
in that pile.”

I yawned and dropped onto the couch beside him, wrapping myself in a blanket.

“Did you come over here at the butt-crack of dawn to talk about my magazine collection?”

“First of all, it’s nowhere near the crack. It’s noon. And I came over here to check in on you. You disappeared Friday night.”

“Noooo,” I corrected him. “Actually, you all disappeared.”

“No, we didn’t. Or at least I didn’t. The waiter turned out to be straight.”

“‘Straight,’ meaning that he wasn’t interested in you?” I grinned.

“Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.” He waved away the thought. “All I know is that when I got back to the bar, you were gone. And straight clubs are boring without girlfriends. So I wandered around alone, and laughed at the breeders trying to dance, and laughed at the bartenders pretending to be straight. And then,
finally…
I found someone worth taking home. Someone you know, as a matter of fact…
drum roll please
…Prakash!”

He had to be kidding me. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“No. Why?” he asked, looking up from his manicured nails. “Maybe I’m developing some sort of an Indian fetish from hanging out with you and Reena. All I know is that I saw that tall drink of chai latte on the other side of the floor and I had to meet him. So I went over and asked if he was lost. He laughed, and said he was waiting for his buddy. We got to talking and he’s great. He’s also even cuter than you said he was. Those big brown eyes, and what a body! Girlfriend, I think I’ve been missing out all these years. Now I know the secret. Indian men are where it’s at.”

“Where what’s at?”

“Where I’m at.” He grinned. “At the moment. Or at least, where I was that night. And where I hope to be again, very soon.”

“Huh?”

“Try to keep up, sweetie. Anyway, when he told me his name, I asked if he knew you. He said yes. And as if I didn’t already know he was gay, he clarified that the buddy he was with at Son Cubano was only a friend. Nick, I think his name was.”

It was beginning to sound as if The Blue Man Group was rehearsing inside my skull. Louder, and louder, and louder.

“So we flirted. One thing led to another. And then he made me breakfast.” He leaned in with doe-eyes. “I mean, he actually made me breakfast. Who
does
that? Nobody
does
that anymore. He’s so old-fashioned. I’m telling you, I could really fall for this one.”

I jumped up and headed for the coffeemaker. “Christopher, Prakash is not serious relationship material. Trust me.”

“Vina, I know what I’m doing.”

“Really? Well, did you know that he hasn’t come out to his family yet? Can you seriously consider a relationship with someone like that?”

I paused to consider the irony of being the one to say this. Christopher stood up.

“I know you think I deserve better, but I have my own definition of that. Nobody’s perfect. People make compromises all the time. He’s a good guy. I like him. It’s a compromise I’m willing to make.”

I poured the water into the coffeemaker and switched it on, turning around to face him. “You’ve only known this man for one night.”

“No offense, Vina, but you knew Jon for over a year, and that didn’t seem to make much of a difference. I don’t need to justify this to anyone. I didn’t come in here looking for your permission to date him.”

“You’re telling me not to be melodramatic. Well, now I’m saying the same to you,” I countered. “As your friend, I am reminding you that it has only been one night. Not even a real date. Has he even called you yet?”

“That’s a technicality.”

I scoffed and reached for the coffee mugs.

“Did you ever think that maybe your inability to decide what you want out of your life makes you overly emotional, and therefore judgmentally impaired when it comes to people who are willing to take responsibility for their own happiness?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Did you ever think that maybe your attraction for doomed relationships with unavailable men makes you emotional toilet paper?”

He took a step back and shook his head. “This is not a good color on you, Vina.”

“I’m sorry.” I exhaled, and started thinking about it out loud. “I apologize, really. You’re right. I’ve been snappy lately. And you have a right to
shtup
whoever you want.”

“You know, you have a way with words.”

“So I’ve been told.” I spooned sugar into the mugs.

“And that’s not always a good thing.”

“So I’ve learned.”

With Christopher gone, and no interest in heading to the office for a few hours, I realized I had nothing to do. So I scoured the fridge for anything edible, downed two cups of coffee and checked out every godforsaken eighties action-movie repeat on cable television. Then I went online, cleaned out my inbox, read my horoscope and surfed around for nothing in particular. I even scanned the
New York Times
Sunday edition. Restlessness had made me desperate. Eventually, curiosity got the better of me. I bit my lip, hunched my shoulders, and logged on to Salon.com.

There it was on the splash page, alongside a two-column diatribe about “How And Why To Avoid Any Man Whose Smile Makes Your Clothes Fall Off.”

It was my article—“When Your Prince Turns Into A Pirate.”

My article.
My
article. It had a nice ring to it. And according to the
About Us
section of the Web site, Salon.com received 300,000 hits per week. I was settling into my newfound fame, not to mention peaceful morning when all was interrupted by the ringing of my cell phone.
Was it always that loud?

“Nani,” I stated with the warmth I reserved just for her. “What are you doing?”

“Me? I’m talking to my dear, sweet granddaughter.”

“And did you eat breakfast yet?” I smiled through the phone.

“Breakfast? Of course! I took my breakfast at eight o’clock. Now it is already time for my lunch. Did you eat your breakfast yet?”

“Yes, yes. I’m fine. I’m doing some reading.”

“Oh, are you busy? I can call you some other time, then.”

“No, no. First of all, even if I was busy, I would always rather talk to you. Secondly, I am not busy, anyway.”

“Where did I get such a sweet granddaughter?”

“Sweet granddaughters come from sweet grandmothers.”

“
Beti,
I called to see if you are feeling a little low after last night. But now that I hear your voice with so much
shaanti,
so much contentedness, I only have to ask you what has made you so happy.”

“I am always happy when I talk to my Nani.”

“I know,
beti,
but today you have a different voice. What were you doing when I called?”

“I was—” I took a breath “—I was reading something on the Internet. Something that I wrote. It has been published, Nani.”

“And you didn’t tell me? That’s wonderful! Can I read it in Hindi, also?”

“No,” I said, picturing her reaction to her granddaughter’s article about the importance of sexual fidelity in interracial premarital relationships, then thanking God that she would never read it.

“Well, this is wonderful news,
beti.
”

“Oh, it’s no big deal, Nani. It’s a small thing, really.”

“Not if it has made you sound this way,” she began. “What is bothering you?”

“Nani—” I hesitated “—do you remember that poem I wrote when I was a little girl? Like, fifteen years ago?”

“Yes.”

“This is like that. I’m not sure it’s something I want to share, or maybe it’s not something I wanted to be public.”

“Is it shameful?”

“No, no. Well, not in my opinion. I haven’t done anything wrong, but not everybody will understand, or see it the same way as I do. I mean, Mom and Dad certainly wouldn’t approve of the topics.”

“
Beti,
I think that maybe you should allow it to be public.”

“I thought you said good girls trust their parents,” I tested her.

“You are not a girl anymore, Vina. When I was your age I was a mother and a widow already.”

“What are you saying, Nani?”

“Vina, a girl must respect her elders and trust her parents. Completely. A woman must respect her parents and trust herself. Completely. That is the only way. The world is a different place now, but a woman’s intuition is as important as always. It is
jo undher say athha ha
…what comes from within you. That is the only thing you should trust blindly. That is the only thing we really have. Everything else is just a show.”

I almost cried, thinking how impossibly special having a grandmother was, even as I reminded myself that
It’s not that easy.
But I didn’t tell her that.